简爱(英文版)-第58部分

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ts　like　a　pair　of　doves；　as　you　are。　Mesdames”　（to　the　dowagers）；　“you　will　take　cold　to　a　dead　certainty；　if　you　stay　in　this　chill　gallery　any　longer。”
And　so；　by　dint　of　alternate　coaxing　and　manding；　he　contrived　to　get　them　all　once　more　enclosed　in　their　separate　dormitories。　I　did　not　wait　to　be　ordered　back　to　mine；　but　retreated　unnoticed；　as　unnoticed　I　had　left　it。
Not；　however；　to　go　to　bed：　on　the　contrary；　I　began　and　dressed　myself　carefully。　The　sounds　I　had　heard　after　the　scream；　and　the　words　that　had　been　uttered；　had　probably　been　heard　only　by　me；　for　they　had　proceeded　from　the　room　above　mine：　but　they　assured　me　that　it　was　not　a　servant’s　dream　which　had　thus　struck　horror　through　the　house；　and　that　the　explanation　Mr。　Rochester　had　given　was　merely　an　invention　framed　to　pacify　his　guests。　I　dressed；　then；　to　be　ready　for　emergencies。　When　dressed；　I　sat　a　long　time　by　the　window　looking　out　over　the　silent　grounds　and　silvered　fields　and　waiting　for　I　knew　not　what。　It　seemed　to　me　that　some　event　must　follow　the　strange　cry；　struggle；　and　call。
No：　stillness　returned：　each　murmur　and　movement　ceased　gradually；　and　in　about　an　hour　Thornfield　Hall　was　again　as　hushed　as　a　desert。　It　seemed　that　sleep　and　night　had　resumed　their　empire。　Meantime　the　moon　declined：　she　was　about　to　set。　Not　liking　to　sit　in　the　cold　and　darkness；　I　thought　I　would　lie　down　on　my　bed；　dressed　as　I　was。　I　left　the　window；　and　moved　with　little　noise　across　the　carpet；　as　I　stooped　to　take　off　my　shoes；　a　cautious　hand　tapped　low　at　the　door。
“Am　I　wanted？”　I　asked。
“Are　you　up？”　asked　the　voice　I　expected　to　hear；　viz。；　my　master’s。
“Yes；　sir。”
“And　dressed？”
“Yes。”
“e　out；　then；　quietly。”
I　obeyed。　Mr。　Rochester　stood　in　the　gallery　holding　a　light。
“I　want　you；”　he　said：　“e　this　way：　take　your　time；　and　make　no　noise。”
My　slippers　were　thin：　I　could　walk　the　matted　floor　as　softly　as　a　cat。　He　glided　up　the　gallery　and　up　the　stairs；　and　stopped　in　the　dark；　low　corridor　of　the　fateful　third　storey：　I　had　followed　and　stood　at　his　side。
“Have　you　a　sponge　in　your　room？”　he　asked　in　a　whisper。
“Yes；　sir。”
“Have　you　any　salts—volatile　salts？　Yes。”
“Go　back　and　fetch　both。”
I　returned；　sought　the　sponge　on　the　washstand；　the　salts　in　my　drawer；　and　once　more　retraced　my　steps。　He　still　waited；　he　held　a　key　in　his　hand：　approaching　one　of　the　small；　black　doors；　he　put　it　in　the　lock；　he　paused；　and　addressed　me　again。
“You　don’t　turn　sick　at　the　sight　of　blood？”
“I　think　I　shall　not：　I　have　never　been　tried　yet。”
I　felt　a　thrill　while　I　answered　him；　but　no　coldness；　and　no　faintness。
“Just　give　me　your　hand；”　he　said：　“it　will　not　do　to　risk　a　fainting　fit。”
I　put　my　fingers　into　his。　“Warm　and　steady；”　was　his　remark：　he　turned　the　key　and　opened　the　door。
I　saw　a　room　I　remembered　to　have　seen　before；　the　day　Mrs。　Fairfax　showed　me　over　the　house：　it　was　hung　with　tapestry；　but　the　tapestry　was　now　looped　up　in　one　part；　and　there　was　a　door　apparent；　which　had　then　been　concealed。　This　door　was　open；　a　light　shone　out　of　the　room　within：　I　heard　thence　a　snarling；　snatching　sound；　almost　like　a　dog　quarrelling。　Mr。　Rochester；　putting　down　his　candle；　said　to　me；　“Wait　a　minute；”　and　he　went　forward　to　the　inner　apartment。　A　shout　of　laughter　greeted　his　entrance；　noisy　at　first；　and　terminating　in　Grace　Poole’s　own　goblin　ha！　ha！　She　then　was　there。　He　made　some　sort　of　arrangement　without　speaking；　though　I　heard　a　low　voice　address　him：　he　came　out　and　closed　the　door　behind　him。
“Here；　Jane！”　he　said；　and　I　walked　round　to　the　other　side　of　a　large　bed；　which　with　its　drawn　curtains　concealed　a　considerable　portion　of　the　chamber。　An　easy…chair　was　near　the　bed…head：　a　man　sat　in　it；　dressed　with　the　exception　of　his　coat；　he　was　still；　his　head　leant　back；　his　eyes　were　closed。　Mr。　Rochester　held　the　candle　over　him；　I　recognised　in　his　pale　and　seemingly　lifeless　face—the　stranger；　Mason：　I　saw　too　that　his　linen　on　one　side；　and　one　arm；　was　almost　soaked　in　blood。
“Hold　the　candle；”　said　Mr。　Rochester；　and　I　took　it：　he　fetched　a　basin　of　water　from　the　washstand：　“Hold　that；”　said　he。　I　obeyed。　He　took　the　sponge；　dipped　it　in；　and　moistened　the　corpse…like　face；　he　asked　for　my　smelling…bottle；　and　applied　it　to　the　nostrils。　Mr。　Mason　shortly　unclosed　his　eyes；　he　groaned。　Mr。　Rochester　opened　the　shirt　of　the　wounded　man；　whose　arm　and　shoulder　were　bandaged：　he　sponged　away　blood；　trickling　fast　down。
“Is　there　immediate　danger？”　murmured　Mr。　Mason。
“Pooh！　No—a　mere　scratch。　Don’t　be　so　overe；　man：　bear　up！　I’ll　fetch　a　surgeon　for　you　now；　myself：　you’ll　be　able　to　be　removed　by　morning；　I　hope。　Jane；”　he　continued。
“Sir？”
“I　shall　have　to　leave　you　in　this　room　with　this　gentleman；　for　an　hour；　or　perhaps　two　hours：　you　will　sponge　the　blood　as　I　do　when　it　returns：　if　he　feels　faint；　you　will　put　the　glass　of　water　on　that　stand　to　his　lips；　and　your　salts　to　his　nose。　You　will　not　speak　to　him　on　any　pretext—and—Richard；　it　will　be　at　the　peril　of　your　life　if　you　speak　to　her：　open　your　lips—agitate　yourself—and　I’ll　not　answer　for　the　consequences。”
Again　the　poor　man　groaned；　he　looked　as　if　he　dared　not　move；　fear；　either　of　death　or　of　something　else；　appeared　almost　to　paralyse　him。　Mr。　Rochester　put　the　now　bloody　sponge　into　my　hand；　and　I　proceeded　to　use　it　as　he　had　done。　He　watched　me　a　second；　then　saying；　“Remember！—No　conversation；”　he　left　the　room。　I　experienced　a　strange　feeling　as　the　key　grated　in　the　lock；　and　the　sound　of　his　retreating　step　ceased　to　be　heard。
Here　then　I　was　in　the　third　storey；　fastened　into　one　of　its　mystic　cells；　night　around　me；　a　pale　and　bloody　spectacle　under　my　eyes　and　hands；　a　murderess　hardly　separated　from　me　by　a　single　door：　yes—that　was　appalling—the　rest　I　could　bear；　but　I　shuddered　at　the　thought　of　Grace　Poole　bursting　out　upon　me。
I　must　keep　to　my　post；　however。　I　must　watch　this　ghastly　countenance—these　blue；　still　lips　forbidden　to　unclose—these　eyes　now　shut；　now　opening；　now　wandering　through　the　room；　now　fixing　on　me；　and　ever　glazed　with　the　dulness　of　horror。　I　must　dip　my　hand　again　and　again　in　the　basin　of　blood　and　water；　and　wipe　away　the　trickling　gore。　I　must　see　the　light　of　the　unsnuffed　candle　wane　on　my　employment；　the　shadows　darken　on　the　e；　and　grow　black　under　the　hangings　of　the　vast　old　bed；　and　quiver　strangely　over　the　doors　of　a　great　cabi　opposite—whose　front；　divided　into　twelve　panels；　bore；　in　grim　design；　the　heads　of　the　twelve　apostles；　each　enclosed　in　its　separate　panel　as　in　a　frame；　while　above　them　at　the　top　rose　an　ebon　crucifix　and　a　dying　Christ。
According　as　the　shifting　obscurity　and　flickering　gleam　hovered　here　or　glanced　there；　it　was　now　the　bearded　physician；　Luke；　that　bent　his　brow；　now　St。　John’s　long　hair　that　waved；　and　anon　the　devilish　face　of　Judas；　that　grew　out　of　the　panel；　and　seemed　gathering　life　and　threatening　a　revelation　of　the　arch…traitor—of　Satan　himself—in　his　subordinate’s　form。
Amidst　all　this；　I　had　to　listen　as　well　as　watch：　to　listen　for　the　movements　of　the　wild　beast　or　the　fiend　in　yonder　side　den。　But　since　Mr。　Rochester’s　visit　it　seemed　spellbound：　all　the　night　I　heard　but　three　sounds　at　three　long　intervals；—a　step　creak；　a　momentary　renewal　of　the　snarling；　canine　noise；　and　a　deep　human　groan。
Then　my　own　thoughts　worried　me。　What　crime　was　this　that　lived　incarnate　in　this　sequestered　mansion；　and　could　neither　be　expelled　nor　subdued　by　the　owner？—what　mystery；　that　broke　out　now　in　fire　and　now　in　blood；　at　the　deadest　hours　of　night？　What　creature　was　it；　that；　masked　in　an　ordinary　woman’s　face　and　shape；　uttered　the　voice；　now　of　a　mocking　demon；　and　anon　of　a　carrion…seeking　bird　of　prey？
And　this　man　I　bent　over—this　monplace；　quiet　stranger—how　had　he　bee　involved　in　the　web　of　horror？　and　why　had　the　Fury　flown　at　him？　What　made　him　seek　this　quarter　of　the　house　at　an　untimely　season；　when　he　should　have　been　asleep　in　bed？　I　had　heard　Mr。　Rochester　assign　him　an　apartment　below—what　brought　him　here！　And　why；　now；　was　he　so